


love potion no.9

by thekardemomme



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Amortentia, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Magic, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28923867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekardemomme/pseuds/thekardemomme
Summary: they’re best friends. and potions partners.or: it’s amortentia day.
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 35
Kudos: 135





	love potion no.9

**Author's Note:**

> not that it’s rly super relevant but **1)** i changed their age gap to only one year, **2)** robbe is muggleborn and sander is halfblood, **3)** different years can take classes together, idk if that’s allowed in canon but it is now bc i said so, **4)** i picked slughorn bc this is a snape hate account
> 
> dedicated to jenna ✨  
> special shout-out to wonkathyst for reading this over

Robbe’s never been all that good at Potions. He thought that he would be, because he’s fairly good with maths and sciences, but this is different. Even when he thinks he does everything perfectly, there’s still times when it fucks up, and Robbe has no idea why. It’s insanely frustrating. 

Especially because Sander is annoyingly good at it. He could brew potions in his sleep that are better than a good 50% of the potions Robbe produces. 

Nevertheless, it’s Robbe’s favorite class, because it’s the one he has with Sander. Sander’s a sixth year Slytherin, and he has pretty eyes and a pretty smile and he’s so _cool,_ and Robbe’s been half in love with him ever since they met last year. They met at Hogsmeade, when Robbe was a fourth year and Sander a fifth, in Honeyduke’s. Sander was trying to decide between a chocolate frog or Every Flavor Beans, and Robbe was trying to stock up on Sherbet Lemons. They’d gotten to talking after Sander asked for his help in deciding what to buy, and then that turned into them getting together to eat the Every Flavor Beans, and they’ve been close ever since. Practically attached at the hip. 

Robbe’s friends tease him for it relentlessly. Jens is also a Slytherin, so he always comes back to report on what Sander’s said about him in his absence. Robbe only believes about a third of it. And Aaron is a Hufflepuff, like Robbe, so he and Jens both are also in Potions with him and Sander. Robbe gets a _lot_ of wiggled eyebrows and giggles thrown over their shoulders. 

It’s embarrassing, because Robbe knows that his feelings are unrequited. Sander’s a natural flirt. He flirts with Robbe, yeah, but he flirts with everyone. If he was serious about Robbe, why wouldn’t he have made a move in the past year? Why does he act the same around Robbe as he does around everyone else? Sander has so many other options, could get _anyone_ he wanted. Robbe isn’t stupid enough to hope that Sander would pick him. 

So they’re best friends. And Potions partners. 

Today is Amortentia day. Robbe’s been both dreading it and looking forward to it, because on the one hand he knows exactly what he’s going to smell, but on the other hand he doesn’t know what Sander’s going to smell. And he’s kind of nervous to hear because it could (most definitely will) break his heart, but he also craves knowing what it is that Sander finds attractive. 

“This kind of sucks,” Sander comments, watching the steam curl up in spirals from the cauldron. When Robbe just glances at him in confusion, he continues, “Showing us love potions for Valentine’s Day. Just reminds me of how single I am.”

Robbe snorts. “Just brew it and slip it to someone.”

“Do you not pay attention in class, Robin? This is an _advanced_ potion. We won’t be able to brew it until after N.E.W.T.s.” He leans over the cauldron, and Robbe watches the pink ripples reflect onto Sander’s face. “Besides, that’s not real. I want someone to love me without love potion.”

_Someone already does._

Robbe leans over the cauldron, too, holding his yellow tie to his chest to keep it from accidentally dipping into the potion. The color is beautiful, and the steam tendrils are fascinating, but he’s terrified to get close enough to smell it. He wonders if Sander already can, and if he just hasn’t said anything. 

A quick glance around the room tells him that nearly all the other students are already smelling their potions, while Professor Slughorn walks around and surveys. Everyone is chatting animatedly about what they smell, and as much as it makes Robbe’s stomach turn, he can’t deny his own curiosity. 

“Don’t you agree, though?” Sander asks, smiling over at Robbe and then knocking their shoulders together. “Love potion isn’t real. I want someone to love me for me. Sometimes I don’t think that I’ll find that.”

Robbe furrows his eyebrows. “What? Of course you’ll find that,” he argues, because the idea of someone not loving Sander Driesen is absolutely ridiculous. Robbe’s been gone for him from day one, hour one, minute one, and he’s sure he can’t be the only person that happens to. In fact, he knows for certain that several Hufflepuff girls find Sander attractive. They make sure to tell Robbe about that every time Sander visits their common room. 

It makes him a little bit jealous, but he has to shove that down, too. 

Sander shrugs, “I don’t know. What makes you so sure?” His eyes, his _beautiful_ fucking eyes, are so piercing. Like he can see right through Robbe. 

“Because you’re… You. I don’t know. I think there are more people who are half in love with you than you realize.”

Sanders snorts, and Robbe can’t help but smile just at the sight of Sander’s smile. Even though Sander’s laughing at him. “Only half?” He teases, nudging their shoulders together again. Only this time he stays there, their sides pressed together from shoulder to hip to knee to foot, and Robbe feels like he’s about to choke. “Do you think there’s someone out there fully in love with me?”

Robbe is acutely aware of how close they are now. He forgets, kind of, that they’re right in the middle of class, as he tries his best not to flicker his gaze down to Sander’s lips. “Yeah,” he chokes out meekly, internally cringing at the way his voice cracks. 

For a second they just stare at each other, and Sander looks like he’s about to say something, but then Slughorn is announcing that everybody should smell their Amortentia quickly because there isn’t much time left in class. 

Like a spell has been broken, Sander steps back. “You go first, I’m nervous.” He practically shoves Robbe towards the cauldron, earning him a death glare even as he obliges, stepping up to the table. 

After only a couple of seconds to collect himself, he leans forward and takes a long sniff. 

Instantly, his entire body warms, feels like he’s coming home. It’s Sander, of course it’s Sander, all fucking Sander just like he expected. And he can’t stop sniffing, can’t stop letting the smell fill him up from top to toe, embracing him like a warm hug. Robbe wants to bottle it up and take it back to the dormitories with him, so he can smell it whenever he’s cold or lonely or sad. 

And really, it’s pathetic, isn’t it? He smells Sander’s cologne, Sander’s favorite drink, Sander’s toothpaste. He smells all of these things, is so hopelessly in love with him, the boy sitting right fucking next to him, and Sander has no idea. Can't know, because Robbe won’t let him know. 

Because Robbe would rather seriously consider bottling up Amortentia than ever risk Sander rejecting him, and losing Sander’s friendship. 

Suddenly, he’s pulled back, and it takes a couple seconds to realize that’s Sander’s hand curled around his bicep. He blushes, figuring that Sander noticed how long Robbe lingered, how much Robbe liked it. 

Sander complains, “Okay, okay, if it’s _that_ good, then I want my turn.” He releases his grip on Robbe’s arm, and Robbe smooths down his robe, tries to pretend that there aren’t butterflies in his tummy and lightning sparks under his skin. 

He watches as Sander leans over the cauldron, closing his eyes as he takes in the smell. It’s like it’s in slow motion, the gentle movement of Sander’s eyes, the grip of Sander’s hands on the desk, the column of his neck as it stretches over the cauldron, the line of his back as he’s bent over. Robbe tries not to stare, but he can still smell the ghost of the love potion, and he’s feeling a little bit _more_ out of control than he usually is. A little bit more in love, and a lot less able to suppress it. 

He figures it’s the love potion fumes combined with the vibes of Valentine’s Day. 

Well. And the fact that Sander makes him unbelievably nervous. 

Sander leans back, a calm and serene look on his face. Robbe’s not much of an artist—that is _definitely_ Sander’s thing—but he’s overcome with the urge to draw Sander’s blissed out expression. Whatever he smelled and whoever matches it is one lucky bastard. 

Robbe clears his throat, tries to play it off as casual. Tries to act like he’s not about to jump out of his skin. “What did it smell like?” He asks softly, and once again in slow motion, Sander turns his head to meet Robbe’s eyes. His smile is gentle and soft, and it makes Robbe’s heart ache in the best and worst way. 

“Amazing,” Sander murmurs. “I wish I could make a candle out of that smell.”

“Yeah,” Robbe agrees dumbly, swallowing until his throat clicks. He wants to say more, but it doesn’t come to him, so he just stands there like an idiot until he has the courage to lean back over the cauldron and smell it again. 

He doesn’t _ever_ want to forget that smell. 

“Okay, class!” Slughorn calls, and Robbe is admittedly a bit relieved for the distraction. Everyone stands up straight, clearly all trying to restrain themselves from smelling their potions again. “As I stated before, Amortentia is powerful and highly dangerous. It is the strongest love potion in the world—though it doesn’t actually create love, it creates obsession. An unhealthy obsession. And it’s biggest trick is that it smells to each person exactly like what they find most alluring. Let’s give some examples, hmm? What do you smell, Dominic?”

Dominic, a fifth year Slytherin, leans forward to smell his potion again before he answers. He talks about treacle tarts and blooming roses and fresh parchment, with a bright blush high on his cheeks. A Hufflepuff girl named Zahra is next, and she says she smells pine trees and basil and peppermint-hot chocolate. And then Slughorn is turning to their side of the room.

Robbe tries to look busy, tries to avoid the Professor’s gaze. The last thing he needs is to be asked to explain his Amortentia out loud, because it’ll be glaringly obvious who he’s talking about—maybe not to the whole class, but Aaron and Jens will definitely know, and Sander would be stupid not to guess. 

But the universe hates him, apparently, because suddenly Slughorn is pointing his wand at him, a bright smile on his face. So blissfully unaware of Robbe’s inner turmoil. 

“Mr. IJzermans, do you care to share what aroma you smell?”

Robbe clears his throat again, smiling up awkwardly. He smells the potion again, just to stall, trying to decide whether or not to lie. But he can’t come up with any fake scents when the Amortentia is _right there,_ smelling like the boy he’s in love with, and Robbe knows he’s fucked. 

“Um, sure. I smell… I smell mint,” he begins, trying not to stutter or choke on his words. Like maybe, if he projects false confidence, nobody will realize he’s perfectly describing his best friend. Like maybe he won’t have to use memory charms on every last one of them. “Like toothpaste. Um, butterbeer. And then there’s… tonka beans. And acrylic paint.” Robbe cringes as he says it all, resolutely looking anywhere except at Sander. 

Which was definitely a mistake, he realizes, as his gaze falls upon his stupid friends, who are laughing their asses off. Robbe blushes harder, if that’s even possible, stepping as far away from the table and the cauldron as he can manage. 

Slughorn nods, “Thank you, Mr. IJzermans!” And then he continues on with his lesson, all while Robbe is absolutely _dying._ He wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole, he wants class to end so he can run to his next class and pretend this never happened, he wants fucking Lord Voldemort to come in and smite them all just so—

Okay, maybe not _that._ Sander’s usually the one with the flare for the dramatics. 

Gods, why couldn’t he just lie? He could’ve said anything, literally anything, and nobody would’ve known that he was lying. He could’ve said vanilla and beeswax candles and pumpkin pasties, and nobody would’ve second guessed him, nobody could even prove him wrong. But no, he had to practically declare his love for Sander right in the middle of Potions. 

His nose starts to sting a little bit, and he rubs at it harshly. He is _not_ going to cry in class, he isn’t. That would only make the whole thing even more humiliating. He’d spend the entire summer begging his mom to enroll him in muggle school and never make him go back to Hogwarts ever again. Hell, he’s ready to do that now. Ready to send her an owl begging her to come get him from school, and let him go do normal chemistry in a normal school. 

Thankfully, the class does eventually end—though it feels like a couple centuries later—and Robbe hurries to pack up his things and leave. He practically bolts out of the room, ignoring Jens and Aaron who are calling after him. He definitely doesn’t need that right now. 

He figured Sander wouldn’t follow him. The Slytherins have Charms next, while the Hufflepuffs have Divination. And Trelawney’s room is nowhere near Flitwick’s. Robbe has to go to the North Tower, and Sander has to go to the South Tower. 

That’s why it surprises him when that all too familiar hand closes around his bicep again, and suddenly he’s being pulled into a broom cupboard, hidden only by the thin wooden door. Robbe _isn’t_ surprised, however, to turn around and find that it’s Sander that’s dragged him in here. He doesn’t try to argue or leave, he just slumps against the wall and listens as Sander casts a muffliato charm on the door. 

Then Sander rounds on him, and Robbe feels that stupid tingle in his nose again. “Robbe,” he begins, his voice all soft and gentle, and Robbe’s eyes start stinging too. He swipes at them angrily, and then hears Sander repeat, “Robbe,” even softer this time, like he knows Robbe is seconds from tears. 

“I’m sorry,” Robbe says miserably. “I didn’t know he was going to ask me, and I didn’t have time to think of a lie. I’m _sorry._ I don’t think anybody else knew, though, and— They don’t have to. I promise it’s just a stupid crush, I’ll get over it, I don’t want you to hate me or—”

“Hate you?” Sander blurts out, and he’s laughing a little. It makes Robbe curl further into himself, makes his eyes blur with tears. “Robbe, hey, no. I could never hate you.” 

_But you don’t love me, either._

When it’s clear that Robbe’s spirits aren’t going to suddenly lift, Sander sighs, stepping closer to him. “Come here,” Sander demands, opening his arms for a hug. When Robbe doesn’t budge, Sander rolls his eyes and repeats, “Robbe. Come here.” 

So Robbe does. He folds himself into Sander’s embrace, and he still doesn’t let himself cry because again, _embarrassing,_ and he also doesn’t want to stain Sander’s robes with tears. Sander holds him tightly, rubs his back and whispers for him not to cry because _you’re going to make me cry, Robin, and that would ruin my edgy reputation._ That pulls a little laugh out of Robbe, which apparently makes Sander deem him happy enough to pull back from. 

Robbe settles back against the wall, and tries not to read too much into the fond way Sander is looking at him. 

“So,” Sander murmurs. “I understand the butterbeer, and the mint toothpaste, and of course the paints. But tonka beans?”

Robbe shrugs, “That's what your cologne smells like.” He cringes again after he says it, because even though he knows that Sander knows, it still doesn’t feel right to admit that his Amortentia was all Sander. 

“Hmm. Well, do you want to know what I smelled? You asked, and I never told you.” He nudges the tip of his shoe against Robbe’s, and then smiles like the cat who got the cream. “I smelled freshly picked daisies, broom polish, Earl Grey tea, and Sherbet Lemons.” 

Robbe’s head snaps up, because surely he can’t be hearing this correctly. 

But Sander’s still grinning. “Do you happen to know a boy who plays Quidditch for fun and not for his House team, drinks Earl Grey tea before bed even though it’s a caffeinated breakfast tea because he swears he can’t sleep without it, eats Sherbet Lemons by the dozen with zero regard for how bad his sugar rushes are, and who I frequently take on picnic dates over the summer in the fields of daisies near my house?”

A million things run through Robbe’s mind. He wonders why Sander never said anything before, he wonders how long Sander’s returned his feelings, he wonders how Sander remembers silly details like his favorite tea, he wonders how Sander has managed to stand in here this long without kissing him, he wonders if Sander really had no idea that Robbe’s been in love with him for all this time. 

But he doesn’t ask any of those questions. Instead, because he’s still a ball of nerves and butterflies, he squeaks out, “I drink chamomile sometimes.”

Sander laughs again, all bright and happy, and he launches himself off of the wall to crowd into Robbe’s space. His hands find Robbe’s cheeks while Robbe’s instantly fall to Sander’s waist, and for a second Robbe thinks Sander is finally going to kiss him, but it doesn’t happen. 

Sander is just staring at him across their noses, a small pleased smile still on his face once his laughter dies down, and he looks so in love that Robbe doesn’t know how he ever missed it before. 

“I’ve been in love with you since my fourth year,” Sander admits, voice quiet. And Robbe doesn’t think anything of it until he realizes that was two fucking years ago, and they didn’t even know each other then. “I saw you with Jens in the common room. I couldn’t help but notice how out of place a cute little Hufflepuff like you looked in the dungeons. You were laughing at whatever Jens was saying, and you didn’t even notice me, but I couldn’t stop looking at you. I kept trying to ‘accidentally’ meet you, but nothing ever worked out. That day we finally met in Honeyduke’s, I had already decided to swallow my pride and ask Jens to introduce us. But then the universe just… Dropped you into my lap. Like fate. And I’ve been yours ever since.”

Robbe wants to cry all over again, but for different reasons. 

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” 

Sander shrugs, and if Robbe didn’t know any better, he’d think Sander was blushing this time. “I was nervous. I was so excited to finally be close to you, and getting to know you, and I was scaring myself with how easy it was to fall in love with you. I didn’t want to lose you if you didn’t feel the same.” And then Sander smiles, nudges their nose together. “Probably the same reason you didn’t say anything.”

Robbe huffs, rolling his eyes, but there’s no real annoyance in it. How could there ever be, when his dreams are coming true? “You could’ve told me in Honeyduke’s,” Robbe murmurs. “You could’ve asked me on a date and I would’ve said yes. You could’ve kissed me while we ate those stupid Every Flavor Beans and I would’ve let you. I wanted you to.”

“Even after I ate the vomit one?”

Robbe giggles, “Yeah. As long as you didn’t mind that I ate the earwax one.” 

They both shiver at the memory of the earwax jellybean—arguably the worst flavor, even worse than vomit—and then they fall back together again, lips so close that they could press their stupid, loved-up smiles into each other’s if they really wanted to. 

And god, does Robbe want to. 

“We’re going to be late,” Sander whispers. 

“I don’t care.”

That makes Sander smile again. “Me neither.”

Robbe isn’t sure who leans in first, if it’s him or if it’s Sander or if they both leaned in at the same time, but it doesn’t matter, because then they’re kissing. And it’s everything Robbe’s ever dreamt of, filled with more magic than every inch of this school, with sparks and electricity and butterflies and the overwhelmingly warm feeling that Robbe has finally, _finally_ come home. 

Sander introduces tongue first, and Robbe meets his efforts with equal enthusiasm. If you’d told Robbe this morning that by the end of the day he’d be making out with Sander Driesen in a broom cupboard, he’d have called you crazy and probably been mad at you for teasing him. But here he is, kissing the boy of his dreams. Because they’re in love. It’s _mutual._

“I love you,” Sander breathes, as if reading Robbe’s mind, and it’s insane how easily that makes Robbe’s heart skip a beat. “I do, but we’re really going to be late, and Flitwick will have my ass.”

Robbe whines, tightening his arms around Sander’s waist. “Sander… You said you didn’t care. Just a few more minutes.”

For a second, it seems like Sander is going to give in, because he presses more kisses to Robbe’s lips like he just can’t help himself. But just as Robbe is melting into it, Sander pulls back again, a frown on his perfect face. 

Robbe notices that his lips are swollen and red, and it makes his heart burst with pride. 

“We really have to go,” Sander says, and Robbe doesn’t argue this time, nodding petulantly and pouting as he straightens out his robes. “But, um. I’ll see you in the Hufflepuff common room after class?”

Robbe nods, “You better.”

“Good.” Sander smiles again as if he can’t help it, leaning in to press four more neat kisses to Robbe’s lips. “Okay. I’m going now. I love you.”

Merlin. Robbe doesn’t know if he’ll ever hear that enough. 

Shyly, he admits, “I love you, too.” And it’s worth it to see the way Sander lights up at the words. 

One more long kiss and a quick spell to rid the room of the muffliato, and Sander is off, rushing to the South Tower to make it before Charms starts. Robbe leaves, too, but he’s in much less of a hurry to get to Divination. There are other, more important things on his mind than reading tea leaves and crystal balls. 

Sander Driesen loves him. No Amortentia needed. How is he ever meant to focus on anything else? 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter @starsamidala  
> send me prompts on tumblr @wlwharrys pls i’m literally begging


End file.
